


A Rainy Night in Philly

by ienablu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Chases, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha has been followed for the last four hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rainy Night in Philly

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to quigonejinn for giving me what I needed to turn a premise into a fic. Thanks to playpraydie and somethingsomething for the beta and handholding. Thanks to curiosity-killed18 for being a super cool artist. And thanks to fuckyeahblackwidow for being a great resource on comics elements.
> 
> The Tactician is based off Liu Yifei [[link](http://img6ty.sjfzxm.com/upload/image/2015/04/16/4501fa37-48e2-4b6f-9af0-54084d507c6e_biger.png)]; The Russian is based off (a blonder) Lauren Cohan [[link](http://coolspotters.com/files/photos/967935/lauren-cohan-profile.jpg)]. For the curious, [this](http://mynoise.net/NoiseMachines/rainNoiseGenerator.php?c=0&l=75042504491873203987&a=1) was my preferred rain sound generator.
> 
> I have done my utmost to keep this as realistic as possible, but there were a few elements that had a bit of artistic license. Here's hoping that said elements won't be noticeable.

It's a rainy night in Philadelphia and Natasha has been followed for the last four hours and seventeen minutes. Maybe longer – whoever her tail is, they're organized. Watching her surroundings is second nature, and despite a hyperawareness through her afternoon strolling through Fairmount Park, Natasha couldn't pinpoint who or what was raising the red flags.

Only when a drizzle started and the number of people on the street diminished did Natasha get the confirmation she needed – yes, there are too many people out, too many around her, in the block vicinity of her.

It's not the CIA or the FBI or any other intelligence agency. They move differently; besides, for all that Natasha has a target on her back after leaking all of SHIELD’s information on the internet, neither organization has the payroll for so many agents to tail her. And there are many of them – she hasn't noticed any overlap in the past four hours.

Privately funded is the next option. Though anyone who has enough money to send ten men after her would be more interested in bringing her in immediately, rather than tailing her as she traveled through Philly.

She pulls out her cell. It's a burner phone, no numbers programmed in, but there are a few numbers she can dial automatically.

Three rings, then, "This is Hill."

"Hey, Maria," Natasha says, quietly, casually.

"Natasha," Maria replies. "You are hardly one for social calls. What do you need?"

"Are you still friendly with Laurie?"

"Laurie Chan, the Tactician, or Laurie Andrews, in accounting?" Maria asks.

"The Tactician." Although Natasha has never witnessed Laurie Chan’s skills in Public Relations, her reputation of ruthlessness and efficiency preceded her.

"Our PR rep stationed in Philadelphia?" Maria presses.

"Is she still ours?"

"HYDRA wasn’t overly concerned with collecting PR agents, as far as I know. Chan didn’t re-enroll after the fall of SHIELD, but frankly, we probably could benefit from bringing a few PR agents back in.” There's a few moments of silence. "Any particular reason you need to contract a PR agent, or am I going to have to start guessing?"

"I just thought you might want to see if she still has sway with the local news."

"And why would that be a concern?"

"I might be making the news."

Maria just sighs.

Natasha doesn't think that's totally warranted. "I've had a tail on me all day."

"How's that anything out of the ordinary?"

“This one is different, trust me.”

“Alright,” Maria says, after a beat. “Who’s tailing you?”

“I don’t know.”

“That _is_ different.”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “They’re organized. Numerous. Well-funded. Persistent. Patient. Honestly, it’s being run like a SHIELD op.”

“It’s not SHIELD,” Maria replies. “We lost too many good agents already, we’re not adding to it. Especially not with you.”

Natasha had been under that impression, but it's still good to hear.

"So the question is who would run a SHIELD-like op on you. Aside from the obvious."

"It's not HYDRA," Natasha agrees. "I ran with STRIKE enough to know what their missions feel like. This is too quiet. It's a perfect op. It's… the kind of op I would run."

"Who would run an op like Natasha Romanoff?"

"Who would solve a problem like Maria Hill?" Natasha asks in return, eliciting a snort. “Is it still Deputy Director, or have you been promoted yet?”

"Actually, I’ve followed in your footsteps, and I’m at Stark Industries now.”

That leaves the question of who is even remotely qualified to take the Director role, but Natasha doesn’t comment on that. “Tell me how long that lasts.”

“Where are you now?”

“Wallace and 19th.”

“Alright. I’m still on work, but call me if you need anything. Though SHIELD doesn't have the numbers to extract you, so I'll probably have to patch you through to Pepper if things get drastic. Text me when you’re in the clear.”

"Noted," Natasha says, and she hangs up, and safely pockets her phone. If they're running an op like her, she needs to see if they react like her.

The Spring Gardens Community Garden is just across the street. Natasha glances to left, to make sure no cars are coming, before strolling across the street, and then jumping the fence into the garden. It's a nice garden. Large foliage along the fence provides cover, but at the same time, rustles as she slides between the talk stalks of plants. The community garden fills up the city block, and Natasha makes her way through the flower beds and vegetable patches at a brisk walk.

She's been heading northeast for the most of the day. She could double back, head west or south, confront her tail. They want her alive, might as well ask them what they want her alive for. And if she’s miscalculated that desire, there is nothing to say that Natasha couldn’t take them down.

But there are only so many people who could pull this op, and Natasha wants to know which one of them it is. Playing along might be the easiest way to find out, or at least the quickest.

At the end of the garden, the fence rises up higher. Natasha picks up speed, sprinting to the fence, climbing up it and easily flipping herself over to land on the sidewalk. North or east, she thinks, north or east. A quick glance at her surroundings, and she decides that both, both is good.

She starts sprinting east on North Street.

Her heartbeat falls in time with her footfalls, a splash of water matching each step.

The beginning of a chase scene is the easiest, she’s always thought. Adrenaline pumping through her system, her mind thrumming with strategy, fatigue only existing as a distant threat, it makes the first sprint the easiest, and the first block passes in a blur.

She’s halfway down the next block when a car blares its horn at the last intersection. She throws a look over her shoulder, and sees her pursuers have matched her speed. They could overtake her, or try to, but they’re only pursuing, not pushing. Happy to continue trailing her, so long as she’s still on their course.

How badly do they want her to stay on route?

At the end of the block, she takes a sharp right turn down 16th Street, passing a series of row houses.

A bullet shatters the glass of the windshield of a nearby hatchback. Glancing back reveals that none of her pursuers have followed her, which means that their numbers include a sniper. Good to know. Natasha makes a mental note to see if she can get Stark to fund a replacement windshield. Or Pepper. Probably better to ask Pepper first.

At the corner, Natasha makes a left, then another, ducking behind the row houses she just passed. It’s a shorter sprint, and then Natasha is keeping the course, darting across North Street and between the buildings on the other side of it.

She passes behind them, a small dog yelping at her from a back door, then squeezes back onto a Melon Street. She takes it at a sprint, coming to a stop only when she sees the headlights of an oncoming car reflected on the asphalt of 15th Street. Natasha takes the two seconds to catch her breath, and looks behind her. Farther back on Melon, she can see one of her pursuers talking into a radio.

Natasha updates her description of her opposition – organized, and aware enough to know their cover has been blown. And, judging by the short-range radio, _close_.

One more block down Melon, and Natasha once more draws to a stop.

The Divine Lorraine Hotel sits surrounded by Ridge Avenue, North Street, and Fairmount Avenue. A proud sign rests above, boasting the hotel in large capslocked letters. Natasha had looked into the hotel years ago. Frequent changes in management has resulted in infrequent oversight. Due to zoning limits, its rooftop ten floors up is one of the higher points in the area. Being situated on three streets made for easy escape routes, with nearby bus and metro stops if necessary. All in all, she thought it might be a useful location.

It appears she wasn’t the only one to think so.

The building is devoid of power, going under its umpteenth change in management. But somehow a letter in each word has been selectively lit, glowing a quiet red against the dark night sky.

 **N**  
**A**  
**T**

The rain falls heavier, but Natasha can't quite blame it for the chill that runs up her spine.

Broad Street is busier than the mostly-residential area she was just in, and Natasha waits for the traffic light to guide her to cross the street. A glance back, and she sees her tail has fallen back. She takes the moment to observe the Divine Lorraine. The newest management has ordered some construction, and scaffolding has been built above the sidewalk. The perimeter of the hotel that isn’t bordered by the scaffolding is bordered by a chain-link fence, heightened security against trespassers. Only, the security wasn’t designed to keep her out, and so there’s no way it will.

The light changes, and Natasha jogs across the street, then ducks under the scaffolding, into a brief reprieve from the rain. The sound of rain dulls as the drops hit the plywood above her. She makes her way around the building, wishing she could observe the graffiti tags thrown up, but not wanting her muscles to start to cool down. There’s a non-operational elevator in the building, a fully-functional elevator shaft, and a majestic series of alabaster marble stairs, but Natasha has a different idea on how to get to the top.

The scaffolding stops, and Natasha walks back into the rain, then immediately turns and climbs her way up onto the top. She walks across the plywood to the nearest balcony, then jumps over the metal railing, onto the balcony patio. One night when it’s not raining, Natasha thinks it might be fun to try and free-climb the building. Given the rain, though, Natasha takes advantage of the metal rungs built into the brick, as she starts climbing the building.

The rain seems to fall heavier as she rises up each floor. In the rain, her hair has started to curl, and she reaches up to briefly push it out of her face, though it falls back into place as she maneuvers her way up the side of the hotel.

And then she reaches the tenth floor, and flips herself over the railing, onto the balcony. The sky has entirely opened up by now, rain pelting down as she passes into the hotel, and she strides into the banquet hall.

The banquet hall is wide and spacious, a curved ceiling rising high above, curved windows lining the walls. It’s only the half a dozen thugs stationed at the windows that make Natasha feel comfortable. They're all armed, but in a medium range like this, there's no way they'll be able to hurt Natasha, at the very least not before she can hurt them.

But they're still here, and they're not the person who should be. She glances around the room. If their places were switched… Natasha tilts her head up, gazing towards the mezzanine above her. "If you went through all this trouble, the least you could do is greet me yourself."

A laugh echoes through the barren room, and then there's a flutter of motion.

And then Yelena Belova is standing in the middle of the room. She looks the same as the last time Natasha saw her, all those years ago. Wide stance, head tilted to the side. Her golden blonde hair falls just past her chin, curling the same as Natasha’s.

"There are other ways to get my attention," Natasha tells her.

"I thought you would enjoy it, Tasha."

"I don't like games, Lena. I never have."

"This isn't a game," Yelena says. There’s a weight to the words that Natasha can’t parse.

"Call off your guards."

"This isn't a fight, either," Yelena assures. But then she turns her head, and barks out orders for the guards to retreat, that she’ll call on them if she needs them.

The orders are in Russian, and Natasha finds herself more amused than she should be. “I am speak Russian, _Rooskaya_ ,” she says, as the men empty from the rooms.

Still in Russian, Yelena asks, “Then why don’t you speak it?”

Natasha ignores the question. "What is this, then?" she asks. "You didn’t use to be this showy."

"Consider this... an interview. Or debrief, whichever you prefer," Yelena says, as she starts walking a slow circle around Natasha. Her brief orders in Russian make Natasha all the more aware of how flawless – but generic – her American accent is. "Perhaps a warning? You should have taken more care with the files you leaked."

Natasha doesn't turn to track Yelena's movements. "SHIELD didn't have any information on the Room. I made sure of it. My record was clean."

"Ah yes, I saw. Born in 1984. How has thirty been treating you?"

"Thirty is the new twenty," Natasha says, dryly.

Yelena lets out a throaty laugh.

The hairs on the back of Natasha’s neck prickle.

"No,” Yelena says, the humor fading from her voice. “You may have cleaned your record, but you did not sterilize it. Your file still had all the threads. We were concerned."

"About what?"

By now Yelena is back in her vision. "Surely you must have told somebody something."

Natasha shakes her head. "What purpose would it serve me to talk about the Room?"

Yelena makes a noise. “I am asking a question I don’t know, not one I already do.”

"What is this really about, Lena?"

Yelena stops in her tracks. She turns her head, so to stare at Natasha. "I missed you," she says, plaintive, honest.

Natasha can’t honestly claim the opposite. "You didn't track me down because you missed me.”  
She could be here as a distraction – if the Room wants to bring her back in, her disappearance would not be too suspicious given her current circumstances. But Yelena is too proud to be a distraction knowingly, and too smart to be made one unknowingly. “You were sent here on a mission, what was it?"

"What it always has been – up to your imagination. The offer to come back. The threat to keep quiet."

"If I wanted back in, I would have come back. If I wanted to talk, I would have talked, and you would have tried to stop me."

By now, Yelena's circles have brought her in closer, only a few feet away from Natasha. "I missed you," she repeats. "It’s been a long time. I wanted to see you. See what you would be like. See if I would be relieved, if I would be happy to see you."

"Are you?"

Yelena shakes her head, the curls bouncing. "I wish I was," she says, with that same plaintive honesty. "But you're... you're not what you used to be. Sao Paulo is not nearly as dramatic as CNN made it out to be. Everything you've done for SHIELD, it's not you. Your work with us, don't you miss it? It was easier not to care, not the way that they have made you. You were beautiful, Natasha. You had the best potential of us all. You were irreplaceable. And you've thrown it away. Why?"

"The Room was not breeding us for _potential_ ," Natasha replies. "I was not irreplaceable, Lena, not to them. Nor are _you_ irreplaceable. There will always be so many other little girls hoping for the glory of ballet."

Yelena laughs, softly. "You were a beautiful dancer, a true prima ballerina. Fading into the corps does not suit you."

"I've not faded."

"Yes," Yelena says. "You have. And I miss you – the real you.” Yelena steps forward. “Come back, Tasha."

Natasha shakes her head. "Sorry, Lena." A beat, and then, "I should be reversing the offer. Come with us. They won't be able to find you, SHIELD will take care of you."

Yelena scoffs, starts circling her again. "How can SHIELD take care of me against something they don't know about?"

"They take care of their agents. We are not just _dancers_ to them."

Yelena shakes her head. "You speak so ill of the Room, of how we are disposable to them, yet are you not the one that left them? And have we not gone out of our way to get you back?"

"I left them, and that's why they want me back. I left, and it terrified them. If I were to die here, my death would mean little to them, I mean little to them.”

"You're not going to die, Natasha. We're stronger than that."

"Has it ever come to you that perhaps we should not be?"

"Are you afraid of immortality, Natasha?"

"We are not immortal."

"The Black Widow is. Was."

Natasha shakes her head. "You're not ready to leave the Room," she says. "But when you are, come to me. I will help you leave. You need to get out, you need to be free. They don’t care about you.”

Yelena stops circling. “And do you?”

Lightning flashes.

Natasha doesn’t answer, only watches the play of light across Yelena’s face. This close, Natasha can smell the fragrance she's wearing, notice where eyeliner has been recently reapplied, see the cracks in her foundation.

 _You can be better_ , Natasha thinks. “When you’re ready,” she says, simply.

Yelena’s face does not move, but disappointment writes itself across her features. "Good bye," she replies. She takes a step back, then another, and then she turns on her heel and strides away.

Natasha tracks the sound of footsteps, each footfall ringing in the cavernous room. Lightning flashes, illuminating the room.

The room is empty.

Natasha breathes out.

 _all clear_ , she texts Hill.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.


End file.
